A child's head is naturally as soft as the pap of an apple.

So the persistent researcher may still track down at least a few of Wilde’s own annotations and doodlings and wine stains and broken spines, parsing them for whatever they may reveal.

The young King looked tenderly at Mademoiselle Mancini, who gave him a glance quite as tender in return—not, however, unobserved. His mother had been for some time past a displeased spectator of a predilection which might become dangerous.

His inheritance catapulted him into a life of ease.