Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. Gosse! Dieu du ciel, but how did he get into the convent? She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was impossible. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest.
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