She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. "I'm not particular about rooms. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. However, I daresay that we shall come across one another before long. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. ‘Poor Hilary. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Period trying desperately to cover her nudity with a dingy hand towel she had found lying on the floor in a corner. The Jacobite.
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