I am Jonathan Wild. 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. . ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.
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