He smiled complacently. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. It is not at all comme il faut. Until the last moment she was afraid. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware.
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