And then her pace slackened. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite. "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. " "A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ’ There was a pause. An immediate halt took place.
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