The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.
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