Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. " Trenchard took up a pen. Then the incredible happened. I don’t know. " "Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. He's worth a dozen of you. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off.
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