Part 3 Later they loitered along a winding path above the inn, and made love to one another. During this movement, Jack grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. For I still love her mother. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. "My portrait!" echoed Jack.
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