CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. Jonathan had not deceived him. He’ll survive. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain.
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