‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. By rights I ought to have arrested her days ago. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable.
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