The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. So I made haste and recovered. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. “I have not quarrelled with her. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love.
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