CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. "We're forgetting," he said. Then he turned with a fierce movement to take her into his arms. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. "Leave us, Mrs.
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