Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He turned just in time to see Lucilla exchange an amused look with Hilary. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace.
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