You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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