She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Something namelessly abhorrent in the eyes of those men…! She knew what arms were for—to fold and embrace and to hold one tightly; but why men wished to kiss women was still a profound mystery.
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