was cooped up like a rat in a trap, but with characteristic indifference
for herself, she only said:

"And this was your school?"

"For many years, seven or more."

She was silent for a time and then went on.

"You have led a quiet life, Master Wheatman?"

"Ha," thought I, "she's gauging my capacity to help her," and added
aloud, bitterly reminiscent, "The life of a yokel, madam."

"You have read much?"

"Yes, I'm fond of reading. It passes the long winter nights."

"And no doubt you know by heart the merry gests of Robin Hood and the
admirable exploits of Claude Duval?"

I felt her eyes on me in the dark, and longed for the sun so that I could
see the blue glint in them.

"No such rubbish, indeed," said I hotly. It was a slight on Master
Bloggs, droning away yonder at the fall of Troy, not to say the sweet old
vicar.

"What then?"