Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. "As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. "But I wish her hand had been as deadly as yours. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. It is like some accident. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. But there was no sign from her.
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