“Martin, I don’t know what to say. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. And, setting down the link, he proceeded deliberately to untie his cravat.
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