She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. She had very frizzy hair indeed, very black eyebrows, a profusion of metallic adornments about her neck and waist, and an engaging smile. “Oh, Lucy. We’ll make short work of them. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her.
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