"In the first place it amuses me. You seem to forget I'm a _dompteuse_,
a tamer of beasts; it's my profession, I was trained to it. It's the
only thing I can do, and it's good to feel that I haven't lost my power.
It's odd, but I feel a different woman when I'm impressing my will
on these wretched cats. You must come one of these days and see a
performance, when I've got them ship-shape. They'll astonish you. And
then," she would add, "I can write to Anastasius and tell him how his
beloved cats are getting on."
Well, it was an interest in her life which, Heaven knows, was not
crowded with exciting incidents. Now that I can look back on these
things with a philosophic eye, I can imagine no drearier existence than
that of a friendless, unoccupied woman in a flat in Cadogan Gardens. At
that time, I did not realise this as completely as I might have done.
Because her old surgeon friend, Sir Joshua Oldfield, now and then took
her out to dinner, I considered she was leading a cheerful if not a
merry life.
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