’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Then enter Mr. Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat.
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