‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome.
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