She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Families had seen their lands seized, their chateaux ransacked or burned, and those unlucky enough to have failed to anticipate disaster, had been murdered or dragged away to gaol. That is why I came to London. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. ‘Nothing. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you.
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