Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all up and begin again.
Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with foreshortened Allegory staring down at his intrusion as if it meant to swoop upon him, and he cutting it dead, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house and office. He keeps no staff, only one middle-aged man, usually a little out at elbows, who sits in a high pew in the hall and is rarely overburdened with business. Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in a common way. He wants no clerks. He is a great reservoir of confidences, not to be so tapped. His clients want HIM; he is all in all. Drafts that he requires to be drawn are drawn by special-pleaders in the temple on mysterious instructions; fair copies that he requires to be made are made at the stationers', expense being no consideration. The middle-aged man in the pew knows scarcely more of the affairs of the peerage than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.

Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with Allegory staring down at him, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house and office. He keeps no staff, only one middle-aged man, who sits in a high pew in the hall and is rarely overburdened with business. Mr. Tulkinghorn needs no clerks. He is a great reservoir of confidences; his clients want him; he is all in all. Any copies that he requires are made at the stationers'.
