She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. I speak no harm of her. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. By that time it seemed to them they had lived together twenty years. Anna was singing as she used to sing. “And now tell me, please, how you eloped from Morningside Park.
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