CHAPTER XXXI. ’ Lucilla frowned. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. You must have figured that out by now. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. Maybe it’s his loss. It filled her with indefinable fear. She interrupted. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. You want me to be clean.
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