The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. Doesn’t know where he is, thought the captain. Lucy stepped inside. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Good night. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. .
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