“May you have as much good fortune as you deserve, but not enough to make you forget us. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. I kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not.
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