. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. I am yours for the making over. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it.
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