Wood scarcely knew where he was. ’ Her eyes narrowed. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream.
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