Never mind. ‘But what will happen to Lucia? Are we to kill her?’ ‘Of course not. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth.
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