They were now in the village street, and Harry pointed out the post-office.
'Your divination with regard to my brother's most eccentric behaviour was doubtless correct,' she said.

'He wished to succour his wretched companion.

Anywhere--it matters not to him what!--he allies himself with miserable mortals.

He is the modern Samaritan.

You should thank him for saving you an encounter with some low creature.' Swaying the letter to and fro, she pursued archly: 'I can read your thoughts.