“I might go home, I don’t know. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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