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There was a gentle rustling of skirts. Say something. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. When I was younger, I was very sick with a deadly flu. We had no idea. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. ‘Hates doing the pretty.
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