She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Diable. Mr. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it.
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