’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. She looked in the rear-view mirror. He was mad. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. ‘Then we will beg.
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