His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. come. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her.
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