You might even tire of me by then, you know. " Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. She was making it up. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose.
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