We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. “Please forgive me, Lucy. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. I want to be with you. ” A bureaucratic three hours later, the paperwork was finished. Well, I am Nigel Ennison’s sister!” “Oh!” Anna said. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Bête, she told herself fiercely. The dress of the dwarfish Jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. ‘Bring her to me and we shall see. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me.
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