" CHAPTER XIX. You understand me, I’m sure. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. “I can say no more. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. “You may not leave. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell.
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