She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. It’s kind of the World War II thing. She was surprised at his modesty.
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