He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Let's talk of this chap. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. Her desires were not for riches. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him.
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