’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. Quite ordinary. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. . I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. . She opened and read it at once. ’ ‘But what do you want it for, miss?’ ‘But to protect myself.
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