It’s my choice, Lucy. When she spoke, her lips twitched. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. But, being pushed forward by his subordinate officer, he was compelled to make a stand. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. “Dear husband,” she murmured.
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