Yours ever, Harry.
Philip tore up the letter furiously. He did not mean to answer it. He despised Griffiths for his apologies, he had no patience with his prickings of conscience: one could do a dastardly thing if one chose, but it was contemptible to regret it afterwards. He thought the letter cowardly and hypocritical. He was disgusted at its sentimentality.
“It would be very easy if you could do a beastly thing,” he muttered to himself, “and then say you were sorry, and that put it all right again.”