Though Gerald must suppose it was inevitable she should eventually come here. It seems Valade visited him that day to present his credentials, and Charvill posted straight off to inform his great-uncle. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. For the sort of love-making you think about. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection.
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