He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. “Thanks, Mister McCloskey. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. He was staring at her, openly gaping. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards.
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