“I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw.
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