Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard. I consented. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. He was not used to not getting his way. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. ” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr.
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