She uttered no cry, but a look of something like terror transformed her face; and, with a quick movement, she turned and fled into the cottage.

Celia opened the garden gate and went on her way, half-suffocated by the dust of the rapidly disappearing car.
As Celia entered the Hall, she was met by the odour of an Egyptian cigarette.

There was something unpleasantly pungent about it, and, coming out of the fresh air, she, unconsciously, resented the too obtrusive perfume; it recalled to her the atmosphere of a cheap Soho restaurant, and shady foreigners with shifty glances.

Such an atmosphere was singularly inappropriate in that great hall, with its air of refinement and dignity.

She was making her way to the stairs, when the man she had seen in the car came out of one of the rooms.