Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. You must dispose of the goldsmith's note I gave you yesterday, as soon as you arrive at Rotterdam. He smothered a laugh. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. I could not have spoken to her. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “It was inevitable,” he declared.
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