Lucy slipped upstairs silently. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. “John, we should be getting out of here. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. Kneebone.
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