I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. Ruth could not be told now. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. Deny me, if you please. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. S.
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