He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. And talking of every conceivable thing. Gracious, there’s the gong. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. The impassivity of her features changed at last. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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