The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. “To my chagrin, I have. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup.
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