She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. 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 stepped back further. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her.
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