Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. 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. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. ‘Precisely. Ah, these English! They travelled all over, up and down the world, not to acquire information but rather to leave the impress of their superiority as a race. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love. What is he—English or American?" "American. Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. Michelle and Missy chatted vigorously in the front seat, oblivious to both the world and other cars on the road.
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