By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. " She had brought home a puppy one day. He could scarcely blame her. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent.
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