His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. Sheppard. She described it so vividly.
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