’ ‘I didn’t bring him,’ Gerald returned swiftly. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. Kneebone took his leave. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed.
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