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. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. I'll engage to get the job done by six. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. It had been her home for hundreds of years. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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