” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. ” Ramage reflected. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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