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She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. She was not obliged to go to the Tredgold College, because as yet the College had not settled down for the session. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. Listen, Jack. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. You wanted to play a lone hand.
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