McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. She had behaved in every way perfectly. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. “One hardly knows—all the time. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. And also I have this Prudence.
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