Cathy sighed. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. ’ Hilary Roding groaned, but obediently followed Gerald as he began to make his way through the trees towards the back to a vantage point from where they might examine the rear of Remenham House. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. He never finished his sentence.
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