Didn’t I say that this whole business of your camping in Remenham House was the one aspect I could not puzzle out?’ ‘You are very clever, monsieur Gérard,’ she conceded, although Gerald was amused by the grudging note, ‘but in truth it is not yet my house. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation.
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