. He looked at Hilary and nodded. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. It was hard to meet that gaze. Noiselessly, his booted feet stepping with careful restraint, he started forward, signalling to Roding to follow. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “It was perhaps my fault.
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