. ” “You weren’t rude,” she said. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. Nothing. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself.
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