Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. My reception at West Kensington you know of. At least here she was safe. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you.
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