A fever of shame ran through her being. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. It was after all a momentary affair. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. You are more in my power than I am in yours. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms.
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