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The inn was a military haunt. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. She stared at his pleading face. \"I'll have to ask Cathy, you know my foster mother? I have not been asked on a date before. ” He repeated several times that he would trust her, though it remained obscure just exactly where the trust came in. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile.
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