It was all familiar ground to Thresk or rather to that other man with whom Thresk's only connection was a dull throb at his heart, a queer uneasiness and discomfort.

He leaned out of the window.

He could hear the river singing between the grass banks at the bottom of the garden behind him.

He would hear it through the night.

Then came a knocking upon his door, and he did not notice it at once.