"And now to see the end of it," said Jonathan, shortly afterwards passing through the window. “So you’d best open your coffers. ” He meditated. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. But, no. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt.
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