235 “No, I think she’s out sick with a throat infection. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. “How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Mr. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. ” “You want my body? It’s yours for the taking. Turning now, and running down the terrace. Here you only waste your time. ” “Very well,” the man answered. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. . ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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