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datatime: 2022-12-04 13:05:20 Author:mQlaqoSo

Harry wanted to say Swann would have been mad not to have done so, but the comment was inappropriate. She didn't want blandishments; didn't need them. Didn't need anything, perhaps, but her husband alive again.

He looked at her strangely, almost as though she'd said something obscene.

'Is this wise?' he said.

'I'd think sometimes-it was a kind of miracle that he let me into his life . . .'

'We were only over for three months, while his show ran. We were going back in September . . .'

'Did you ever see his performance?'

Harry wanted to say Swann would have been mad not to have done so, but the comment was inappropriate. She didn't want blandishments; didn't need them. Didn't need anything, perhaps, but her husband alive again.

'Maybe,' she replied, nodding. 'Perhaps what happened to Swann would have happened anyway, wherever we'd been. People keep telling me: it was an accident. That's all. Just an accident.'

He looked at her strangely, almost as though she'd said something obscene.

'Is this wise?' he said.

'But you don't believe it?'

Valentin had appeared with a glass of milk. He set it down on the table in front of Harry. As he made to leave, she said: 'Valentin. The letter?'

'He's grief-stricken,' she said. 'Forgive him his behaviour. He was with Swann from the beginning of his career. I think he loved my husband as much as I did.'

'To Hamburg,' she said, 'I don't like this city. It's too hot. And too cruel.'

'Now I think I didn't know him at all,' she went on, 'didn't understand him. I think maybe it was another trick. Another part of his magic.'

'But you don't believe it?'

'I called him a magician a while back,' Harry said. 'You corrected me.'

He turned on his heel and made a smart withdrawal.

Valentin had re-appeared, his lugubrious features rife with suspicion. He carried an envelope, which he clearly had no desire to give up. Dorothea had to cross the carpet and take it from his hands.

'I'd think sometimes-it was a kind of miracle that he let me into his life . . .'

'He's grief-stricken,' she said. 'Forgive him his behaviour. He was with Swann from the beginning of his career. I think he loved my husband as much as I did.'

'I'm sorry. My name is Swann, Mr. D'Amour. Dorothea Swann. You may have heard of my husband?'

'The letter,' she repeated.

'The letter,' she repeated.

Harry shook his head. 'I can't afford Broadway, Mrs. Swann.'

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