“No, John, you won’t understand. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. “You need a reason. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. I do not love any one. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. His glasses were gone. She proffered her neck towards him. “I’m sorry. Her commander, Rykhart Van Galgebrok, is devoted to my interests. I cannot do it, David. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee.
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