The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. "At the bottom of that big envelope I found this one.
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