But I will never—never return. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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