. 98 < 13 > THE ISLAND CASTLE AT HERCULIS Life with Sebastian was often trying, yet he grew on her far more than Gianfrancesco ever had. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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