They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Only a book detective could dope this out. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding.
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