It might have been one of her guests, going down to the library for a book to read.
She met Lord Monckton coming out.
"Fine morning!" he greeted.

He made a gesture, palm upward.
A slight shiver touched the nape of Kitty's neck.

She had never noticed before how frightfully scarred his thumbs and finger-tips were.
He saw the glance.
"Ah! You notice my fingers?
Not at all sensitive about them, really.
Hunting a few years ago and clumsily fell on the camp-stove.

Scar on my shoulder where I struck as I rolled off.

Stupid.