Her patience was waning fast. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age. Because of the Dance. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters.
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