"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. . ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. Proof? There is someone who might be willing to help. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself.
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