Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. For the first time a definite doubt possessed him. She had not seen him in two and a half centuries. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. ‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. Leastways, not on your own.
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