’ He sat on the low wall of the haha and invited her to do the same. “I found not one but two photos when I researched the death of the McCloskeys. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. . She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it.
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