But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. She recoiled. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. He seemed to be hesitating between two courses of action. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. ‘Why not a French flag?’ ‘Because I don’t believe that fool Pottiswick could tell French from Arabic, even if he heard it as he says he did—which I take leave to doubt.
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