’ ‘What?’ Hilary glanced from Gerald to Melusine, and coloured up. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. .
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