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Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out.
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