She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. " "But, Mr. Wood; but they never come now. "But you've done well to trust me.
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