Knap. . The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. Kneebone and Winifred. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder.
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