Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. 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. She deserves what has befallen her. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. You know I call that positively wicked. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat.
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