‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone.
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