The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. ” “No. The only inconvenience I feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. Ennison,” she said, letting her fingers rest in his. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. Me, you may have.
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