“You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. White men never went abroad without helmets. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly.
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