” “She’s coming on,” said Capes. It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. Your father…. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. He had remarkably skilful fingers and a love of detailed processes, and he had become one of the most dexterous amateur makers of rock sections in the world. I overheard them planning your assassination. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. That is all I ask.
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