She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. Your life is like a funeral March. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. " She had no reason to doubt him. ’ He grinned. And, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don't mind it. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy.
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