The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. Once the ship faltered, and the tip of this jade wall broke into a million gems and splashed him liberally. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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