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Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. I wanted the magic of love. ‘Pitiful. ‘Mademoiselle. Well, kill me. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively.
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