She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note. For a moment she remained silent. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. At no time did she feel bodily or mental fatigue. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. Besides—there is Sir John.
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