I’d do anything, Vee. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already.
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