" The Wastrel laughed. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. Open it. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night.
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