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The reconciled dogs were in the room and shifted inquiring
noses from one human being to another.
Amanda's people were so easy and intelligent and friendly, and
Benham after his thirty hours of silence so freshly ready for human
association, that in a very little while he could have imagined he
had known and trusted this household for years. He had never met
such people before, and yet there was something about them that
seemed familiar--and then it occurred to him that something of their
easy-going freedom was to be found in Russian novels. A
photographic enlargement of somebody with a vegetarian expression of
face and a special kind of slouch hat gave the atmosphere a flavour
of Socialism, and a press and tools and stamps and pigments on an
oak table in the corner suggested some such socialistic art as
bookbinding. They were clearly 'advanced' people. And Amanda was
tremendously important to them, she was their light, their pride,
their most living thing. They focussed on her. When he talked to
them all in general he talked to her in particular.


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