Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. “It’s very good,” she said. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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