“No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. Nobody can anticipate your next move. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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