He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. “Yes, I know. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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