She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. “I find it very hard to write this letter. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. " Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. You have nothing more to fear from Wild. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home.
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