She had everything in the world she wanted, everything – until she met Dart.
She looked at his photograph now and almost hated him because he still eluded her. She remembered the men who had crawled on their knees to beg her for her favours. She thought of those who had sent her wildly extravagant presents with even wilder, more extravagant notes.
She thought of the director of her first films, who cried when she left him and then consoled his sorrows, not with drink, which would have been understandable, but with morphine, which ended in his being put away in some obscure home somewhere where nobody ever heard of him again.
Men! Men! Men! Her whole life had been a series of men and yet she could not catch the one she really wanted.
She would not believe, when she arrived in England, t
