To be thinking of things like that now at my age! As if I had any need of a woman now!" But in spite of all, his pseudonymous correspondent interested him.
"Who knows?
Perhaps she is good-looking, or at least not very ill-looking.

It doesn't cost me anything to find out." He re-read her letter.

No misspelling.

The handwriting not commercial.
Her ideas about his book were mediocre enough, but who would expect her to be a critic?
"Discreet scent of heliotrope," he added, sniffing the envelope.
"Oh, well, let's have our little fling." And as he went out to get some breakfast he left his reply with the concierge..