Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. Wood trembled. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. I'm in a funk," Spurlock confessed. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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