"She is. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. She did this to please him. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly.
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