He laughed lightly. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. But in a moment she believed she understood. He filled her glass with champagne. She wanted to know. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. In another instant, the collision took place. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs.
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