It was at the age of five, when it became clear that she would not be followed by a brother, that he became more distant towards her and stopped adoring her. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her.
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