‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Well, after a time there came a fever in my blood. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. Wood started to his feet. Very well. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. Wood—and after him came his daughter. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next. ’ Gerald eyed her. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her.
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