She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. They had been informally introduced during floor hockey, when Katy had sent a puck flying into Lucy’s face. They did not want her. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me.
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