Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. ‘What did you tell Valade?’ ‘Well, when I asked him what he wanted, he told me straight out that he had been told his wife was related to Jarvis Remenham, and he had come to see whoever lived here now that Jarvis was dead. So there is no escape. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy.
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