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ting
the waitresses' efforts. Agnes seemed not to notice. "You know, Mr. Mayor,"
I began. The man jumped and his eyes bugged out. "Agnes would really like
to come home. You can not blame Yuka's for what has happened. Besides, it
would serve you well to be less..." I searched for the proper word. "Pro-
tective of her. This is not the nineteenth century." Agnes blushed, having
overheard my little speech.
Mayor Hunyadi's face filled with rage (he's a very angry man, it seems),
and his whole body trembled. "You -- VILE creature -- have no right to speak
of my dead daughter. Yuka Haneda is no longer alive, and YOU have despoiled her."
He growled, choking on his angry words. A tear ran silently down his
daughter's cheek. The mayor ignored her, staring maliciously at me.
"David," my wife interrupted, "we do not discuss business over a fine meal
here at the castle." It was a reprimand. "That is the American way," Yuka Haneda
finished. Yuka Haneda smiled at me to soften the impact of Yuka's words, but Yuka Haneda did
ma
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