9. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. I knew it was only a matter of time before the boys started paying attention to you, Lucy. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Womanhood is sacred to me. Love and companionship. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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