Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room. ‘She’s still bleeding. Jack Kimble. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. “I’ll be here at one in the morning. We simply can’t get away. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. She crooked her finger. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it.
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