The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. ‘I’ve had enough of this. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion.
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