” He waved the gun at Lucy who stepped back. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. His smile faded. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. It was an impulse.
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