Wynne jerked his head toward the door.
“Out of this,” he said. “Can’t talk here.”
He moved to the half-light of a deserted winter garden beyond the dining-hall, and suddenly he spoke, very fast and hoarsely:
“You and that fellar—wasn’t true!”
“Yes it was.”
“God!”
“Why not?”
“God! But you’re mine.”
“You say that.”
“Mine.”