. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. Leastways, not on your own. The impassivity of her features changed at last. He listened. All they left it was the moon and stars. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow.
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