207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. She felt herself getting into a corner. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. ‘Is she the Frenchie we’ve been watching for then, sir?’ The lady’s furious features turned on this new target. “Call it warning, if you like. A pig, yes, a little. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. ” “It wouldn’t be you either. Then, if you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head. They set about everyone—everyone. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast.
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