It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. ‘I doubt it. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. He smiled. E. His appearance excited the greatest astonishment and consternation amid the group. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "What for?" demanded Wood. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. To her intense disappointment, she discovered that all papers had been removed from desks and cupboards. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone.
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