’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. ‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. Pause. ’ ‘Probably not.
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