Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila.
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