From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. G. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love.
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