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It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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