She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. “There is my aunt,” she said. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Michelle began to shadow her at school.
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