It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. . The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. "The door's open, and the room empty. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. ’ There was sense in what she said, Melusine was obliged to concede. ‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred.
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