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’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from.
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