It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. These dinners, from their lavish display of ambiguous hors d’oeuvre to their skimpy ices in dishes of frilled paper, with their Chianti flasks and Parmesan dishes and their polyglot waiters and polyglot clientele, were very funny and bright; and she really liked Ramage, and valued his help and advice. I’d need to be out of my senses. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her.
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