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‘I have only borrowed it. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. Come along, master. “Let me introduce my friend to you,” Courtlaw said. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. Anyone would be intrigued. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light.
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