He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. I don’t quite know why. 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. But also this must not go on. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. " "Ha!" exclaimed Jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning forward with intense curiosity.
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