All the rest is humbug and delicacy. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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