Egnio was tall, not very handsome; his myopic eyes watered a little behind thick lenses. He dressed in well-fitting black suits, with expensive collars that were long out of fashion and conservative haircut, and so had a certain romantic beauty. We couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile. We never saw money, but assumed old blood or at least that impeccable education that now stands in for breeding. We had no reason to, neither fear nor affection nor favour, but it was hard not to do whatever he asked. I don’t know why he asked us to fake all those suicides.
