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He did his best not to grin. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. ’ Gerald dropped down to join her just as her hand came up, clutching the handle. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. It’s no good. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. He became a little less en garde. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless.
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