’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. Did you not hear the shot?’ ‘I ain’t saying as I didn’t hear no shot,’ Trodger said carefully, peering at her out of eyes narrowed with interest, ‘but what I do say is, it’s mighty peculiar you saying as how there’s a Frenchman in the case, when it’s as plain as the nose on your face that you’re a Frenchwoman yourself. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. “But if you had?” she said. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
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