You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. As she had dreaded, the police officer in the car was politely waiting for John to depart, and exited the squad as soon as John turned at the Pine Crest stop sign. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. You must—you shall be mine.
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