And there was Zoe Garin and Stehren Muller and Sabine Hertzman and Helda Marques... yes, there had certainly been Helda Marques.... Helda who had decided that it would be safe just for one little night to amuse herself with the oddly attractive Pierre Hellard, and who had thrown her astuteness, her intuition, her logic, and her life on the unstable altar of desire.
Love, thought Guelvada, was an odd thing. Love, assisted by Messieurs Kane and Guelvada, was sometimes a dangerous thing. Dangerous, at least, for those ladies whose paths strayed from the prosaic sphere of everyday life into the labyrinth wherein the Fentons of this word dwell.
Curiosity it was that killed the cat. And curiosity it was that had killed more women or, at least, wrecked their amours, than women knew or even drea
