It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. It was a pity people had to eat food. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. The island was snake-free. She’s already spoken for.
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