Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. I know something about men. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep.
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