In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard. I was raised in the Church. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. I'm about to ring for supper. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward.
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