5. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. "But I wish her hand had been as deadly as yours.
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