Explore "The Turn of the Tide" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Now and again when office matters were a little slack, Rust was in the habit of rushing off to the West End and there entertaining Patricia to a more or less elaborate lunch, and, Gilmour being away, and Croot still confined to the house, they were off on one of these unofficial excursions two mornings later. It was only a matter of an hour or so, and nobody was any the wiser.
They had finished a dainty little repast in the quiet exclusive restaurant that Rust usually patronized, and were talking generally over the coffee and cigarettes. Nobody was within earshot, and Rust was in confidential mood.