It was after all a momentary affair. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. “I have found out at last what a useless person I am —from a utilitarian point of view. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Jack fell on his knees beside her. “Oh, I know you would stop me if you could. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. He held in his hands many threads. “Did you ever see women so weary-looking and so dowdy? They do not talk. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames.
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