was in a suit of laine glacée the color of thick blood, and my hair had been recently cut to just above the shoulder. On my head was a sophisticated felt hat with feathers on it, from the studio of Madame Boissenet in Tangiers: a real pièce de résistance, which (according to her) was how the elegant women in occupied France referred to such hats. The outfit was complemented by a pair of crocodile shoes with ultra high heels, which I’d obtained from the best shoemaker on the Boulevard Pasteur. In my hands a matching handbag and a pair of calfskin gloves dyed pearl grey. Two
Icy wool
