F. I don’t want you to be sad. Wood's charms equalled your description. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. No, none at all. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. It was Sebastian’s fault for slapping her face and letting the baby out. .
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