But it was her proof. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me.
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