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Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “It is incredible. Gregory B.
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