His course had been observed by the watchman, who directed Wild which way to take. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. . “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. But one must disguise oneself. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that.
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