Explore "Stolen Idols" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The afternoon was still young when Mr. Johnson passed through the park gates of Ballaston Hall and drove slowly down the village street on his way back to the Great House. He studied the sign-post which marked the road to Norwich and hesitated. At that moment a young woman stepped out of the grocer's shop and, recognising him, nodded in spiritless fashion. Mr. Johnson fancied that he caught an almost wistful expression as she glanced critically at his car. He drew up by the side of the cobbled pavement.
"Good afternoon, Miss Besant," he said.