There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. I MUST. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Not alone with her, that’s sure. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
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