"And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. At other times you seem so innocent that it breaks my heart, when you look at me like I’m your Prince Charming and you are depending on me to take you away to my castle in a world that doesn’t exist! I can take you away from this place. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked.
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