During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. ‘Why not a French flag?’ ‘Because I don’t believe that fool Pottiswick could tell French from Arabic, even if he heard it as he says he did—which I take leave to doubt. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese.
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