He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. My only love is for my poor lost son. She did not start for the Imperial College. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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