She looked stealthily at Anna. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. She was now permitted freely to study the face. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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