But then the features changed. She drank it obediently. Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. They don’t count, and I don’t care. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. He initiated sex with her, lightly fingering her clitoris as an invitation. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends.
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