Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. The first was to break a dinner engagement. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine.
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