95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. Wood. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. He had hurt her. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. ’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. . Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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