The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. She has been a dear. I may say she does not sound in the least like Mary,’ said Mrs Sindlesham bluntly.
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