It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. ‘Of course. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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