’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Now, he must have folks somewhere. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris.
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