She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. She's not for pleasure, but for work. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. I made her my unwilling confederate.
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