‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. “Never mind. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. ‘What do you mean to do with her?’ ‘Just keep her talking, that’s all,’ Gerald said quickly. She disengaged her hands and stood up. ” Lucy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
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