"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. And who knew if the men that Gerald had posted there would follow her to protect her somewhere else? In truth, where were these soldiers? She could not see them, although she assiduously searched the mist-shrouded square from the vantage point of the bay window in the large first floor room which had become her headquarters.
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