Fifty sent home. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ” Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point. ’ ‘Woof!’ Sergeant Trodger’s eyes fairly popped out of his head, and he seized his prisoner’s arm again. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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