“I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. Wait, though. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. " "You mustn't talk.
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