“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. I’m taking no chances. Hilary started after her, but Gerald stopped him. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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