E. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. Spurling in alarm. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already.
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