She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. “The bravest of us have joints in our armour. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. “No thanks. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear.
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