John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. But you are Annabel. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. Somewhat alarmed at his appearance, Thames laid his hand upon his sword. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark.
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