‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. Lucy's ears were singing. Why don’t you just tell me what is going on with you! Why the police questioned you! Why they’re looking for your mother? I’ll understand! Just tell me and I swear to God Lucy I’ll understand. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation.
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