Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. “My hand! This isn’t the place. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. "Take care of yourself, then," rejoined Thames, doubling his fists, and advancing towards him: "though my right arm's stiff, I can use it, as you'll find. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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