But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. I don’t think they do matter. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She could not say to Michelle that the Vorsack house had more than just a little tinge of “bad”.
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