I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved. ‘Well?’ she said. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. So he's come around, then? That's fine. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years.
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