“I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. Stanley. Sheppard, fervently. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. Her skin prickled.
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