The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. But those days are over—quite over. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Not a breath was drawn. I will be very well without him. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. Gerald began to ease forward, deciding just how he would accost her.
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