‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. He is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake —for mine.
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