’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. . A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes.
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