The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. Sheppard, shuddering violently. White. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to.
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