Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. The entrance of Shoe Lane, and the whole line of the wall of St. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. ” He looked interrogation with a faint smile. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. CHAPTER II.
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