He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “Is it your maid?” he asked. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. White gasped, and then stiffened. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry. . “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. “We don’t pretend.
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