It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I. To fight inertia on the one hand and to study this queer girl on the other. 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. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. Non.
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