6. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information.
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