Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. You don’t know, Anna, but when one is in danger one realizes that the— the other side of the line is Hell.
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