Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. I ought to have gone long ago. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. At other times, it would seem that the sea itself had gone away. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. .
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