Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. “Here is my card. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris.
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