‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. “It was perhaps my fault. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. He raised her to a sitting position. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous.
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