” Chapter XXV THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, had entered the room with a deferential little gesture. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. A true nun. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. Well, let him be honest.
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