He patted the hand on his sleeve. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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