What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. “Leave them!” He yelled. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her.
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