The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. ” She turned a firelit face to her husband. “Nothing. “Yes. ‘Imbecile. He was bewildered. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own.
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