‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply. The chair had extension arms over which a man might comfortably dangle his legs. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She didn’t choose her man. “Ciao, Fragolina.
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