’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked. I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. ’ ‘From a convent? Even if I wished to do it, I could not. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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