She directed the orchestra to tune again. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. 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. The conversation turned towards the subject of the Diedermayer’s many European vacations.
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