That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. I’m a soldier, you see. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. .
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