C. ” Ann Veronica sat down, and Ramage’s eager eyes feasted on her. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. The only occasional presence other than a skeleton crew of servants was Sebastianus, who occasionally joined Gianfrancesco in the hunt for stag, rabbit, or quail, and then went away for another fortnight. Better to remain silent. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Spurlock.
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