He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away.
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