Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. Yes. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. . Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so.
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