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The reddish-haired young man contributed allusions to the Hegelian philosophy that momentarily confused the discussion. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. 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.
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