She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. If only monsieur le baron had said nothing, or perhaps instead accepted the couple as the Valades and agreed to help them. “So that’s the way it is. One has to train one’s self not to. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. He waited. “I’m thirsty.
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