Oh God! pardon me. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. But the current rumblings of internal discontent across the Channel were productive of unease in certain quarters. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. At this piece of information, the two subordinate officers were observed to exchange glances; and, after a little agreeable raillery on their captain's gallantry, they begged permission to accompany him in his visit. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Shari tried a dozen new makeups on her, and Cathy spritzed her with her best perfume, Chanel Number Five.
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