It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. I have only just left Wych Street. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. I’ve got a streak of male.
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