Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. ’ ‘Even if they militiamen weren’t there, miss,’ cautioned her cavalier, ‘you couldn’t go marching into the house open like. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow.
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