The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. The chair was torture. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way. 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. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting.
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