The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. A discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief. I want you beyond measure or reckoning. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water.
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