Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. " "By the way, did you read those stories?" "Yes. I'll call it my wedding gift. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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