’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. .
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