“They would spoil every chance. ” She eyed him scornfully. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous.
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