’ Gerald tutted. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. ’ ‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. .
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