She would have been amazed if John was even aware of any one of the incidents. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. "My worst fears are realized. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly.
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