The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. ‘Knowed it the instant I set eyes on her. Burn your palette and your easel. I've opened the case of books. ‘So it is that you could not help it.
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