“You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. It was after all a momentary affair. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. She is, in her way, a dear.
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