“I don’t understand why—there are not any brick gables,” said Mrs. Prest, “but this nook has appeared to me earlier than greater Dutch than Italian, more like Amsterdam than like Venice. It’s perversely easy, for motives of its very own; and although you may pass strolling scarcely all and sundry ever thinks of doing so. It has the air of a Protestant Sunday. Perhaps the humans are fearful of the Misses Bordereau. I daresay they have got the recognition of witches.”
