His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. He rested on one elbow. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. His tone was kind and sympathetic.
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