She pulled, he rose to his feet. “He’s got good taste, you know. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. I guess. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. E below. She winked at him as he shut the door. ‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me.
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