So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. She had to wear cream and a brown sash and a short frock and her hair down, and Gwen cream and a brown sash and a long skirt and her hair up. He knew she was out there, he could feel it. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. Then I think I remarked that science was disgracefully under-endowed, and confessed I’d had to take to more profitable courses. Do not believe it, Madam.
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