"I know," she said with a smile. "Franco is peculiar that way. He always pretends that he owns the place."
"No doubt he has used it more than once."
"I fear so. The place seems to be unfortunate. I sell it with a reserve clause. The owner must live there. And no one seems to want to stay; so the place reverts back to me."
"It seems to be an old place."
"Very old. It has been in my family for generations. I have tried to get rid of it, but what can I do when the young men will not stay?"
She shrugged her shoulders expressively. I countered with,
"Perhaps if they knew, as I do, that you owned the property, they would be content to stay, for ever, in Sorona."
"Prettily said," she answered. Then the room became silent, and I heard her heavy breathing, like the deep purr of a cat.
"They come and go," she said at last.
"And, when they go, you sell to another?" I asked.