" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. She needed to protect the baby. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. “I have nothing to say to you. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. I could not keep away any longer. Sorry to be so nosy. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose.
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