You understand me, Charcoal. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs.
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