It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. \" \"If only it worked that way! Oh, it’s just not fair. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said.
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