Through that she had to go. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She will die if she knows I have a gun. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now.
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