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‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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