“I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. “When are you going away?” He asked.
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