“They are coming past our table. " "I'd never set eyes on you again. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. The militia offered little in the way of relief. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. His eyes were bright with the hunt.
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