His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. 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. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. Sheila McCloskey was the real neighborhood watch. “It’s a flabby, loose-willed world we have to face. “These two haven’t been lovers for a long time. You know—I worship you. She was radiant.
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