The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. ’ ‘Bon,’ exclaimed Melusine, triumph soaring.
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