She picked up the hand cannon. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets.
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