Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. You will not be taunted if you return and everything that can be done will be done to make you happy. O'Higgins did not confide in me.
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