He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. This isn’t the place. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait. They don’t now. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover.
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