Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. ’ Gerald cast a swift look up the corridor, but there was no one there, not even a shadow. ‘No, you don’t. Brendon’s guests,” she said, “and I scarcely think it would be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney. ” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes.
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