As to his mother, I've no pity for her. Then pain entered their depths. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Her cheeks were aflame. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast.
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