The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him.
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