"Be still, and you'll receive no injury," returned Jackson. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger.
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