“Why won’t you allow me to visit you in the West Bow?” Evelyn asked petulantly.
I wondered how best to reply. “It is not safe,” I said.
We sat in that wondrous oasis of the Queen Street Pleasure Garden, with the sun casting slanting shadows and the birds sweetening the air with their songs.
“I am sure you can protect me against pickpockets and the like,” Evelyn said. “Unless I can defend myself. My father was a soldier, remember before he took to the law. He has shown me how to fire a g*n. I am sure he will lend you one of his pistols.”
“It is not that sort of danger,” I said.
“Then what?”
I hesitated, for in the light of such a beautiful summer’s day, the story seemed so ludicrous that I could hardly expect Evelyn to understand. She was a very level headed girl.
Evelyn squeezed clo
