The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. The key is in my trousers. A sinister thought edged in. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. "Come with me to the Castle. Courtlaw,” Anna said, “and my solicitors, Messrs.
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