Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. Sheppard. Anna failed in her painting, our money was gone, and she was forced to earn her own living. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice.
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