So go up-stairs and get your things together while I look out for a hansom. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. The blood will rest on your head. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. He seemed safe from the sickness, having been surrounded by the dying, he had witnessed the carnage up close and yet his health still prevailed. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. My nerves are shaken. .
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