Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there.
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