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But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. He still watched her and questioned her. Hopefully. “But your sister,” he said. From me. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple.
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