Not if I read her aright. Earles was absolutely indifferent. “Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. “Beasts!” But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore.
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