You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one. Lucy stood in front of the piano. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Ralph.
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