'" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. The bodies had been found in the river without their heads, which were busy decomposing in a ravine. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. I have only just left Wych Street. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. “It’s precious unromantic. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted.
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