She smiled at me. "Now what would happen if I were to stroke this glove along the furniture. Do you think I would pick up any dust?" No, ma'am," I tol... her. Actually, I was just a little worried. I mean, I was pretty thorough, but I'd heard about the white glove test, and I was thinking that if she wanted to be aggressive, I was sure she could find dirt somewhere.I watched her stroking that over the furniture and then she would hold it up and look at it. Then she would stroke her finger over. He managed to narrow his choice down to three. The first was a southerner, clearly. His skin, unlike the gentle forest-wood brown of Seth's people, was dark as coal. He stood so still he looked like an obsidian statue, his frame lean and rigid rather than bulky. Seth came closer, smiling up at him, willing the man's eyes to drop, to meet his, to see him. But no. The slave's eyes were fixed on some distant point, his face etched into a scowl. His rod-straight spine and unflinching gaze bespoke. More

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