Sword lady

I had a customer yesterday—a very elegant old woman— who had this sword (supposedly a reproduction of Alexander the Great's) mounted on the wall. She also had Excalibur, Dartagnan's sword, and one other I forget.
She was Russian/English, had married a Frenchman, spoke English, French, and Russian, and seemingly had had a marvelous life but was jaded about everything.
After living in England, France, and San Francisco, it seemed odd that she would have ended up in West Sacramento.
"If you could live anywhere, where would you live?"
"It doesn't exist."
"You mean it doesn't exist anymore?"
"It never existed."
She asked me if I wanted anything to drink.
"I would love some tea."
"There is no good tea anymore."
"Oh. So you don't drink tea?"
"I do. But it's terrible."
She said all these things evenly, with the most perfect manners.
At one end of the room was a display case full of sea shells. On top of it was a lamp made of large shells. The light shone through one large shell that had a painting of a man on it. He was handsome in an old-fashioned way, like Leslie Howard.
She raved about the skill of the Tahitian artist who had done the painting. She brought out the original photograph and held it next to the painting on the shell to show the likeness.
"This is art! It should be in a museum!" she said. "I know what I'm talking about, and I'm never wrong."
"I noticed."