She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual. . . Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock.
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