She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. Shoving between them, she confronted the captain herself. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. “Come sit with me, beautiful. Montague Hill. ’ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea, he were,’ agreed Pottiswick’s daughter. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Long before religion and Society heard of Doubt, girls were all for midnight coaches and Gretna Green.
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