She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. Taking a firm grasp of his pistol, Gerald eased back, let go the handle of the door, and at the same instant, swung his booted foot. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead.
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