Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. . ’ The captain shook his head.
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