They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. “Shhh. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. ‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. A white man takes his life in his hands. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table.
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