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. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted.
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