“Did I do something wrong?” He asked. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. He sent me flowers. Hours were spent in preparation for the event. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “Please don’t be sad. I cannot work, I cannot teach. But that did not stop Trodger, who had ridden up from Kent for the purpose, from detailing every little inspection and sortie that his men had made in their allotted task of watching Remenham House. ” Or someone, she thought with disgust.
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