They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. I might add that in any case I should not touch Sir John’s. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives.
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