The Golden Madonna

The Golden MadonnaShe led him into a room with a high, paneled ceiling, talking all the while, questioning him closely. How long would he be in London? Why was he alone, hadn't he mentioned he would bring a friend? Alexander tried to answer her questions politely but heard his voice go vague and flat. He resented being here, with his aunt. He was 45 minutes late because the streets in this part of the city were so strangely marked, changing names every block; the humiliation of being lost severa...