Chapter Nineteen
Degas called Delila to him after her return. She’d been asleep, exhausted from the trip, and having only five hours of rest, she was bleary eyed when Fier led her into Degas’ tiny office.
“You don’t look as pained as before,” Degas observed.
“Tired perhaps,” she replied.
“But not so agitated as you were after your last visit?”
Delila smiled and sat down in front of him. “I have a little hope now,” she answered him.
“Oh?”
“He started with the caning, do you want to see the stripes?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Just go on.”
“He was harsh,” she continued. “But afterward he was much gentler with me, and not so angry.” She smiled, talking to Degas as if he was a friend.
“A reunion of sorts?” Degas queried.
“Perhaps, some admissions that made me think that we
