’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. Try something. ‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah. —There, Mr. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. A cold shiver came over her. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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