What she actually wanted was the present state of affairs to continue indefinitely. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. We know London, and you are a stranger here. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone.
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