“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. ‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. She was gathering quite a crowd in her newfound popularity, and the phenomenon was so apparent she could almost form her own harem of young boys. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image.
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