She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. “It couldn’t be. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. ” He said admiringly. I’m taking no chances.
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