Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. We were to have breakfast there and return in the evening. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. Of a certainty, she also was imbecile. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. But you belong to me—and I want you. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. She donned her gloves. "And now to see the end of it," said Jonathan, shortly afterwards passing through the window.
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