"What about to-night?" he said, after a lengthy blow at his pipe.
"Try a piece of grass," said Antony, offering it to him. Bill
pushed it through the mouthpiece, blew again, said, "That's
better," and returned the pipe to his pocket.
"How are we going to get out without Cayley knowing?"
"Well, that wants thinking over. It's going to be difficult. I
wish we were sleeping at the inn .... Is this Miss Norbury, by
any chance?"
Bill looked up quickly. They were close to Jallands now, an old
thatched farmhouse which, after centuries of sleep, had woken up
to a new world, and had forthwith sprouted wings; wings, however,
of so discreet a growth that they had not brought with them any
obvious change of character, and Jallands even with a bathroom
was still Jallands. To the outward view, at any rate. Inside,
it was more clearly Mrs. Norbury's.
"Yes Angela Norbury," murmured Bill. "Not bad-looking, is she?"
The girl who stood by the little white gate of Jallands was
something more than "not bad-looking," but in this matter Bill
was keeping his superlatives for another.
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