All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. "Where?" she cried. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. ” “But how?” He was, she thought, a little too insistent. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast.
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