CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. She suspected that he would take a mistress just as soon as they returned to Florence. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. ‘Parbleu,’ said Gerald. You were delicious in concert, by the way. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon.
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