She moaned as she touched him. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door.
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