She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. . ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. ’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. But—he was cleverer than any of you. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. It looks so French to be affectionate.
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