"There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace.
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