’ Gerald gazed at her without expression. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. They were inscribed with the name RIMBAUER, EMILIO J. So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. "What does he say?" roared the long drover.
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