"I don't think so," said the Archdeacon, He spoke with some appearance of boldness, but his spirit quaked. That voice which Chloë had now adopted. He knew it well and it portended his discomfiture.
"You don't, eh?" she asked. "Why ever not?"
He turned his shoulder to her and hauled out his bunch of letters from his pocket. "Here, Bisham," he said, "are some letters which I propose you and I should sign and send to the Press. They state the facts quite shortly, quite simply and quite sufficiently. Perhaps we might sign them now, if you have your fountain pen on you."
Chloë got up slowly and came round the table to him. She took the packet of letters gently from his hand and put it in the fire. Paralysed, he watched her push them with the poker in among the red coals; saw them burst into bright flame;
