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’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. ’ ‘She?’ scoffed Martha. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris.
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