Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. It had ceased now, but as he closed in on the area, a faint muttering came to his ears. ’ ‘Lord, man, it’s only a scratch!’ Suddenly Gerald snapped his fingers. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be Capes’ friend.
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