As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. The phone did not ring. Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand.
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