Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. He began to tell me something—and stopped. It tore her apart. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. I'll try to fill in the gaps. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens. . One must be on guard. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched.
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