" "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. . Mike chortled. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children.
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