"The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. Winifred instantly picked it up. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. We simply can’t get away. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. Wiped out, but for these. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him.
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