‘That’s right. ’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. “What’s that for?” He said. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I knew where I would go next: Florence.
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