By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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