She was silent. Sheppard raised her hand, and the malediction trembled upon her tongue. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature.
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