It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. A fortnight passed, then a month. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. I went off to round up his wife. ’ ‘But you managed to escape nevertheless,’ Gerald said calmly, ‘disguising yourself as a nun.
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