The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. . Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail.
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