. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel! But this is catastrophe. They had cried a little, both. They buried him in Willesden churchyard after the robbery. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable.
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