‘She won’t. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. He sat down. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. “So should you. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. It is putting all my dreams out of joint. It will take at least three weeks.
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