” “Were you sexually abused? Was it a miscarriage?” “No. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. She got up and unlocked the door. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. But I have not done so, and will not.
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