’ ‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late.
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