‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. ” “You can’t be killed?” He asked. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation.
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