"What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. Ask your own conscience. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. ’ ‘Distract me? She nigh on gave me an apoplexy. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. He has got five minutes' start of you. ’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. " He was delighted to find the office deserted.
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