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He had not proceeded far when he encountered Sir Rowland, who, having missed his attendant, had returned to look after him. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. ’ Gerald grinned. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain.
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