It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. That’s probably true. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. Only him big hoss padlock—noting else. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair.
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