‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. A phase of mental activity that men called courage: to summon at will this energy which barred the ingress of the long cold fingers of fear, which cleared the throat of stuffiness and kept the glance level and ever forward. Danger, the most terrible she had ever faced, was substantially in this room. “Better state of mind,” she gasped.
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