"Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. I sat within a few feet of him. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. You get this queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love with a wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes THIS, a tapestry of glorious music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of all that is wise and respectable and right. I wish nothing at all from them.
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