He was a just man, and he did not care to start any thunder which was not based upon fairness. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. 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. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives.
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