"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. She was drawn first by Miss Miniver, and then by her own natural interest, into a curious stratum of people who are busied with dreams of world progress, of great and fundamental changes, of a New Age that is to replace all the stresses and disorders of contemporary life. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere.
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