. ’ ‘Oh, have you?’ grunted Gerald, surprising in himself a surge of some odd emotion at these words. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “I promise, Lucy. Before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine. The Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII. Another long interval elapsed. . F.
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