She heard him come in; the light burned on. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. She touched it, and her gaze lifted.
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