‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. And why, after all, should she not borrow money from Ramage? It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously squeamish about money. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage.
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