She drew her naked arms around herself. It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. They had changed identities absolutely. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback.
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