Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. They were filthy after the burial. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. The small predator subconsciously acknowledged the larger one.
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