She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. ” “It is for your good—your good only I am thinking,” he declared. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. ‘I am sure you will. Mr. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too.
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