” “I came,” Anna answered, looking her sister steadily in the face, “to hear all that you can tell me about a man named Hill. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. A white man takes his life in his hands. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. Then instinct took over. . He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. She let out a delighted laugh. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. Only promise me this.
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