At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. He was as hard as a rock. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. Her head swam. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest.
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