"We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike.
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