’ Gerald tutted. She pulled the trigger. The will to live had returned. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. You had better let me go again. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life.
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