“I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. “But, forgive me, you are tired. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. Better even than these. “And now tell me, please, how you eloped from Morningside Park. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. I can be a gentleman. “I don’t see why not,” he answered.
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