“About my sister,” she repeated slowly. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. ‘Leave it, imbecile. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. You jumped, and I think that you left me.
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