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. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way.
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