Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. That would be him. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr.
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