Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. ” She leaned forward for another kiss, which he responded to.
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