His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. ” “That is why they hissed me, then?” “Of course. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up.
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