’ Gerald started. ’ Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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