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"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house." Mona, sinking languidly into a chair, turns the note over and over between her fingers, whilst wondering in a disjointed fashion as to whom it can be from. She guesses vaguely at the writer of it, as people will when they know a touch of the hand and a single glance can solve the mystery. The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful..
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Conrad
"Thank you," says Lady Rodney, coldly, letting her lids fall over her eyes. "Then I can only say I pity you," says Miss Mansergh, leaning back in her chair, with the air of one who would say, "Argument here is in vain." Mona, horror-stricken, goes quickly over to her, and touches her lightly on the shoulder. His passion carries Mona along with it..
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