Like a petulant child he snapped. Mr. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. 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. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. " "Very true," chuckled Jackson; "very true.
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