The wall of St. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. ’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead.
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