Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard. Lucy sighed. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. One would think I had agreed to her going. Hey. “It is a secret mission,” she declared. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. “It couldn’t be. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. . And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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