Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Brendon was silent. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. It is like some accident. About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes.
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