The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. “But how can you?” asked Constance. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. “There’s the whole situation.
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