Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. Wood fancied he recognised. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. . ’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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