Wood, then, beheld two persons, one of whom he recognised as Rowland, spring on board the chase. "Write as follows," continued Jack. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his.
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