’ ‘That’s odd. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. " Sheppard started to his feet. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Hill, Meysey Hill. "Mine died while I was over here. I've no doubt he's as honest as either of you. Let—it—fall.
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