‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Gerald frowned. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife.
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