The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. She felt the thrill race through her body. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. It might be dangerous to thwart him. ’ ‘Yes, but I need a word with Gerald,’ protested the captain, hanging back. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne.
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