He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. And who knew if the men that Gerald had posted there would follow her to protect her somewhere else? In truth, where were these soldiers? She could not see them, although she assiduously searched the mist-shrouded square from the vantage point of the bay window in the large first floor room which had become her headquarters. “What?” He replied.
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