She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. “I’m only arguing against your position of what a woman should be, and trying to get it clear in my own mind. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. I have been used to living in apartments in Paris, but I suppose the system is different here. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn.
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