CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Window
I
t
was a light summer’s night with a strong wind blowing. Strips of indigo cloud scored the pale star-strewn sky, and the air was cool after the intense heat of the day.
The heath ticked and crackled in the darkness, and the broom bushes rustled together like the swish of many skirts.
It was not a night for staying indoors: everything seemed to be abroad and the wind carried sounds for great distances, far-off sheep cries, voices, and the barking of dogs.
Most of these things were lost upon Mr Campion as he thundered across the countryside. Whatever horse-witchery Joey had practised upon Bitter Aloes, her temper had certainly subsided, but she was still very nervy and inclined to be erratic, although for the moment her innate savagery was subdued. Ca
