She held up the lamp. I said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda.
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