Paul Block<br >if his dead friend would somehow rescue<br >backward， struck the frame of the wooden<br >of his knees， and fell backward onto the<br >Harold recalled was the crackling of the<br >going up in flames. Then everything turned<br >which slowly faded to black. The searing<br >a comforting warmth that poured all around<br >~ff the blazing mattress and carrying him<br >~ol night air.<br >6<br >One<br >AT THE NORTHEASTERN EDGE OF GOLDEN GATE PARK， A LIT-<br >tle n~re than a mile from the Presidio Asylum for Incurables，<br >Aidan McAuliffe paid the driver of a hansom cab and asked<br >him to wait for a few minutes. Offering his arm to the young<br >woman beside him， he led the way up the walk to the Hotel<br >Willard， an imposing two-story house， fronted by a portico<br >with four massive gold columns.<br > Entering the hotel， the interior of which looked like a cross<br >between a mansion and a bordello， the couple was greeted<br >by a colorful woman whose unconventional though respeqt-<br >able establishment catered to San Francisco s bohemian com-<br >munity of singers， artists， and writers. After exchanging<br >pleasantries， she quickly took her leave so Aidan and the lady<br >could be alone in the parlor.<br > A few minutes later they were in each other s arms， and<br >Aidan knew Rachel Salomon would not be returning to her<br >family s mansion on Nob Hill that night.<br > "Do I have to leave?" she murmured， staring into his pale-<br >blue eyes. She reached up and felt the firm line of his clean-<br >7<br ><br >