Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. ” She agreed. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. He winced from the wasp-like sting. “You are in luck, Miss Pellissier,” he declared. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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