Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. Did he talk a little when you took him into the city?" "No. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed.
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