She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. 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. Brown was no fool, and he understood the sudden onus of the other children to share the limelight. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes.
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