‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. That'll tune me up. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. He was nearly wincing. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command.
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