” She raked into the fire with the poker. He rested on one elbow. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. Charcoal. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ‘I will make certain that we are unobserved. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. 235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. I made the pies.
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