\" Lucy grinned, thinking of the dark gamey odors she had smelled emanating from a few of the less hygienic boys in school. She proceeded to lift the front end of the car five feet from the ground with one hand. Mischief bubbled up in her. ‘Not where we’re going. His guardian angel warned Spurlock to speak carefully. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned.
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