You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. I'm no mollycoddle. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. Tears sprang to her eyes. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn.
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