There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. He yelled at the girls for neglected to hand Lucy a pair of shorts or a sweater while they stood around in shock. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked. ’ Gerald suppressed a grin.
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