" "I don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time," said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker. He pulled down a chair to her left. He sent me home. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder.
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