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The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. Wood. After all, she was a consummate actress. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Sheppard. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. That's the only fault I know of. It came again. “He can’t be more than thirty.
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