I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. Nuns, I mean. From me. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. He was looking pale and ill. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. “No. So I packed up and came to London next day. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. Save my seat.
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