He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. ‘How happy for you that Valade came to take you away from France,’ he said encouragingly, adding with one of those intimate looks, ‘Happy for me, too. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury.
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