This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. I may want you.
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