Of course, at home there would have been questions. “Just come to that seat now you are here, Miss Stanley, and look down the other path; there’s a vista of just the common sort. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so.
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