That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. My family’s Palazzo is not as grand as the Palazzo Vecchio, but it is a wonderful place that you will adore, I promise. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. The doorman replied, tipping his cap, “I don’t speak much Italian these days, not since my mother died. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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