She flitted about the shop with the fat Armenian in her train. He showed her treasures shut away from the public eye, and she bought long lengths of heavy silks, embroideries thick with gold, a moonstone bracelet linked with silver.
The fat Armenian, bending over her, seemed to direct and suggest. Richard, watching, hated the man's manner.
Outside in the sunshine, he spoke of it. "I wouldn't go there alone."
"Why not?"
"I don't like to see you among those people—on such terms. They don't understand, and they're—different."
"I like them because they are different," obstinately.
He shifted his ground. "Marie-Louise, will you lunch with me at a cheap little place around the corner?"
"Why a cheap little place?"
"Because I like the good soup, and the clean little German woman, and the quiet and—the memories."
