She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. But she had loved the man. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. ‘Merci, dieu.
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