” Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. She received into her slack grasp the pistol and dagger, only half aware of taking them. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. His glasses were gone.
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