She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. We have seen pitted cheeks, which we would not exchange for dimples and a satin skin. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances.
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