His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. Her shoulders began to ache.
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