’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. \" Michelle was becoming upset, and her voice took on a tone of sarcasm. . ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral.
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