THIRTY-ONE
The tension and humiliation went out of him in an instant. Geordie’s expression smoothed as his strong, young fingers twined with Uncle Abraham’s gnarled digits. His lips parted, and his shoulders relaxed. I knew that look. Relief. I had seen the same thing so many times during the war when that first drop of morphine touched a man’s veins, even years after the wound had healed. He had said he was being treated as an addict, but I hadn’t really understood until I saw.
How far would this set him back? Should I put a stop to it? But that would leave Uncle Abraham’s affliction a mystery.
And Geordie trusted Sir Hannibal with his life, with his soul, it seemed, and Sir Hannibal allowed this. It wasn’t my place to have an opinion. Yet.
I saw nothing to horrify me, and I realised
