And beyond, where the burgeoning trees began must be Panvale Priory itself.
Miss Sinquier surveyed it.
It looked to be public offices....
On the mat, dressed in a violet riband, with its paw in the air, lay a great sly, black, joyous cat.
“Toms!”
She scratched it.
Could it be Mrs. Bromley’s?
In the threshold, here and there, were small brass plates, that brought to mind somehow memorial tablets to departed virtue at home.
Miss Sinquier studied the inscriptions.
Ah, there showed hers!