The difference between Giovanni and other men had always been apparent.

Others would sit beside her and make conversation, and then occasionally would make speeches she did not care to hear, would talk to her of love--some praising it as the only thing worth living for, some with affected cynicism scoffing at it as the greatest of unrealities, contradicting themselves a moment later in some passionate declaration to herself.

When they were foolish, she laughed at them; when they went too far, she quietly rose and left them.

Such experiences had grown rare of late, for she had earned the reputation of being cold and unmoved, and that protected her.

But Giovanni had never talked like the rest of them.