But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Looking for something, or someone, probably. Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. . Shari was snoring soundly. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. She drew a long breath. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am.
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