” He threw the stone protecting the crypt to one side. “Thanks, Cathy. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. Leastways, not on your own. ” She looked down on him thoughtfully, and he let his admiration of her free young poise show in his face. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. ” “If you want to ask a favour,” he remarked smiling, “you have made it almost impossible for me to refuse you anything.
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