’ ‘So I infer. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. I know he is dead. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. But there was a face pressed to the glass. She could have kissed Cathy. He begged their attention for the next turn. ’ ‘Take care,’ warned Hilary, his eyes on his improvised bandage. You can live just about how you like.
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