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 Maulgrave's Folly should be left to fall into decent ruin and decay. And instead of that, even at this moment it was being trimmed up afresh. She felt a thrill of anger as she saw a gardener come out of the enclosure, carrying a flag basket and a pair of shears. He came towards her, and something about the rather slouching and prowling gait struck her as being familiar. She looked more closely, and recognised Satan.

"How can you?" she said, when he was within speaking distance. He, of all people, should be more compassionate to the shade of Sir Ralph.

He feigned not to hear her.

"Would you care to go over the Folly, ma'am?" he inquired. "It's quite a curiosity. Visitors come out from London to see it."

Laura was not going to be fubbed off like this. He might pretend not to recognise her, but she would jog his memory.

"So you are a grave-keeper as well as a game-keeper?"

"The Council employ me to cut the bushes," he answered.

"O Satan!" she exclaimed, hurt by his equivocations. "Do you always hide?"