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. It is Thérèse. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter. I could not dream of loving you. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged.
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