" "For mercy's sake go up stairs," implored Sheppard. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. I knew it. 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. Selfishness. . He felt that he was getting on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on faster. ’ He regarded her thoughtfully. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended.
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