’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Quick, now. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. “I have been very selfish,” she declared. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles.
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