"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Vorsack sauntered into the room, sporting her usual toothy thin254 lipped grin. Her lips were dry and cracked. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. ” She murmured. ” “Sounds interesting,” Ennison remarked.
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