“Then you—you will?” A long pause. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. Earles’ waiting-room who would march you straight off to a registrar’s office. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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