Gerald’s chest tightened. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. "Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. Her eyes followed him. 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. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. ‘I can’t do that. .
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