At the House in Great Portland Street
For a moment Kemp sat in silence, staring at the back of the headless figure at the window. Then he started, struck by a thought, rose, took the invisible man’s arm, and turned him away from the outlook.
“You are tired,” he said, “and while I sit, you walk about. Have my chair.”
He placed himself between Griffin and the nearest window.
For a space Griffin sat silent, and then he resumed abruptly: