“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. Several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. Some friends who saw us dining together persist in alluding to her as Miss Annabel Pellissier.
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