That would be an unkind twist of fate. I don’t see that men need bank it with the women. ’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. He followed.
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