And of course! She had a brilliant idea. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. And before Kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. His name is John. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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