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. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead.
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