. "And I'll bet a doughnut that boy in his soul is crazy to have it over with. . . ” He stroked her hand gently. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger.
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