But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. And in some incomprehensible way, Ramage was confused with Capes; she had a grotesque disposition to persuade herself that this was really Capes who surrounded her, as it were, with wings of desire. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. He was an odd one, especially for a young man. “Round midnight, I think. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. She opened her eyes. He meditated, and began a new paragraph. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. She was greatly heartened by doing this.
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