Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. Yes. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters.
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