Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following.
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