He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. She replied softly. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman.
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