“I ought to have done. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. Some of their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up. 1 through 1. . ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. Not at all. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now.
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