They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. " "Can I have a word with you, master?" said Sheppard, approaching Wood. ” Ann Veronica did. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters.
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