” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around.
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