But only inside, you understand, that one cannot see it. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. Only au revoir.
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