“Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. She will not confide in me. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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