“Mid-thirties. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. Anyone would be intrigued. Then for a time she sat very still. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind.
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