They had reached the outskirts of Wilton, and the ugliness of the place was less visible in these outworks of the town. The streets had something of the quaintness of antiquity about them, for this was a part of the real Wilton, an old English townlet that had been gripped and strangled by the decapod of the pits.
“About your mother’s money, Kate.”
The rumble of a passing van compelled silence for a moment.
“You must retain the whole control.”
“I?”
“Yes.”
He heard a woman’s unwillingness in her voice.
“It is my wish, dear. I shall need a certain sum to start with, but my life-insurance can be made a security for that.”
“James!”
Her face reproached him.