" He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. I have always been lonely. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control.
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