’ ‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She turned her head away sharply. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. I guess we could go for a ride. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true.
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