‘Hilary!’ The captain appeared, alert at the note in his major’s voice as Gerald had known he would be. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. .
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