She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. He was the Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the practitioners of crime. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. ‘There is little I can do at present. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. "I suppose he'll be on his feet any day now.
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