Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly.
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