“She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. ’ ‘And where do you propose to go?’ enquired Gerald carefully. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year.
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