" "I've been wondering, too. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. Shortly a man descended laboriously. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. To compare me to a starving pig. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. “Ciao. He handed Ruth a letter. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. It distressed and confused her that the girl should not come to her.
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