Explore "The Place of the Lion" by Charles Williams on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Anthony opened the door of the flat and went quickly into it. He called out as he did so, not that he had much hope of an answer, even if Quentin were there. But instinctively his voice went before him, desiring to cry out to that wilderness of spirit, to proclaim the making straight of the highway of God. No other replied.
He went into each room, and even looked behind chairs and inside a deep cupboard or two and under tables and beds. The agonized fugitive might so easily have tried to hide himself in such an absurd refuge. But he had not; after a very few minutes Anthony was compelled to admit that the flat was untenanted. He came back into their common lounge and sat down. Quentin wasn't here; then he was still in flight--or helpless, or dead. The first possibility of the two which had been in Anthony's mind--that of finding his friend--had proved useless; the second and less defined--the hinted discovery in this house of friendship of a means of being of use to the troubled world--remained. He lay back in his chair and let his eyes wander round the room.