The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. "I feel like work," he lied. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing.
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