‘Go on, Gerald. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. Ramage demurred. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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