The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Voilà tout. And now her father said she must not go. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. ’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them.
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