Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. ” “All the more reason why she shouldn’t get herself talked about. Still silence everywhere. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire.
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