Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. 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. Her eyes were wide and bright. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. The Burglary at Dollis Hill 249 III.
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