CHAPTER XI
The Longfox MethodWhen Amanda came into the church, looking for the canon, the elegant Georgian interior was misty with London sun. It shone in, high under the pale-blue ceiling with the gold stars, and made dusty shafts of yellow light across the dark mahogany arch behind the altar. Saturday-morning chores were being done. Miss Warburton, with a black woolen skiing cap perched on her thin hair like a biretta, was making sure that the parishioner who did the flowers had not been a “silly girl and forgotten the water,” while old Talisman fiddled with the cords which controlled the transom over the north door in his weekly attempt to cure its chronic rattle.
Avril was in the vestry, standing before the smallest gas fire in the world, looking thoughtfully at the walls. He was not
