The Old Gent turned to her. The question he was about to ask had often been on his mind. A hundred times he had phrased the question, opened his lips to speak it. Meeting her eyes, he had until now kept silent, wondering if she might not sense in the question some criticism of herself. ‘Do you think …?’ Shocked, he suddenly realized the same question had been on her mind. It was she, then, who expressed it. ‘Do I think there might be something — something wrong — something wrong with Phil?’
