“My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. He drew a little sigh of relief. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so.
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