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S. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off.
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