” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear.
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