Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. That would come later. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. Water I need. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing.
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