Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. “Turn me. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation.
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