‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. It needs cultivating, I think. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down.
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