“What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. His energy began to slip away and she sank her teeth into his fat carotid artery below the piano wire, which had drawn blood from his neck. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more.
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