The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. The streets were full of colour. Do you know that this becomes a habit?” “If you would only teach us all,” he murmured, “how to acquire it. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. ’ She looked up again and smiled sweetly. It’s like this: You want freedom. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes.
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