She 191 picked up the remote, usurping it of its dividing status between their bodies. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. Almost light-heartedly. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Why not? Quite willing. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her.
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