‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. She wrote it down. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. I came to see you on my own account. She walked through the walls.
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