‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. He fixed it. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. ’ ‘Why not?’ Gerald asked straightly.
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