‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. “That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer.
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