No one knows when one's hand on your hip can lead to a knife in the back. So, I would love to strangle him with a silk scarf or cravat having snatched a fervent kiss before he stabs me by insulting words. And as I am sent to ecstasies about all his smoking jackets and boutonnieres he just stirs my ravenous apetite. What a shame!

PS Perhaps, I consider it for the simple reason that in my childhood I was fond of Philippe de Plessis-Bellière more than the other lovers.