I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table.
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