‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. It was less will than education. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “Please don’t be sad. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. " She sent a covert glance toward the young man.
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