Maggot. A brief calm succeeded. 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. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them.
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