" "A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. It surprises you. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. He would take her with great force.
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