It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. Anyhow, that is how things are. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows.
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