” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Martha was quite right. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. The Victoria was Ah Cum's bread and butter. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed.
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