‘Ah, the tragedy. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. The decision had been sound. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. She felt like a dried-up old woman.
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