“There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. ToC Mrs. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. Your life is like a funeral March. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked.
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