She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor.
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