His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Just an idea of mine. Kneebone. Deep silences came between them. ‘I think it is better if I hold the pistol. “You, too,” he said abruptly. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. She looked at him gravely and squinted. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Neither he nor Gerald chose to attire themselves in full military rig on fashionable occasions such as this. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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