He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. Whatever she does is minimized. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. “I am bored,” she said abruptly.
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