The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Lucy inhaled deeply.
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