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She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. "You forgot your lunch," she said. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. There’s no logic in these things. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. Sebastian spotted her among them instantly. Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. ’ ‘Wouldn’t you?’ ‘In Valade’s place, with so much at stake—and more perhaps than he thought, for if he goes to the lawyers he’s bound to find out about this house—’ Hilary said it for him. He'll be here two or three days.
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