My will never faltered. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. ’ Gerald could not suppress a grin. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. It was the bitterest moment of her life. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. “You yourself have decided that—apart from the question of Annabel. I see now that you make a game with me indeed.
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