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But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. Wood fared still worse. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood. You’re a lady. ‘Don’t be so absurd. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. He had taken it back. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “Perhaps your engagements are made for you.
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