Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. ‘The poor girl was thrust into a convent to become a nun. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. She thought of her costume in some detail and with considerable satisfaction, and particularly of a very jolly property dagger with large glass jewels in the handle, that reposed in a drawer in her room. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. ’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
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