‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Kneebone nodded. . Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. Certain simple purposes emerged from the disingenuous muddle of her feelings and desires. The sword, Jacques. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Capes had altered scarcely at all during the interval, except for a new quality of smartness in the cut of his clothes, but Ann Veronica was nearly half an inch taller; her face was at once stronger and softer, her neck firmer and rounder, and her carriage definitely more womanly than it had been in the days of her rebellion. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship.
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