He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. I've often regretted that I didn't investigate the matter. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. I may want you. . Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”.
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