’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill. I was a novelty. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth.
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