This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ” They passed a man who stared at them curiously. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. ‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute.
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