It was Blueskin. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. It was horrible. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers.
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