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. “Let me introduce my friend to you,” Courtlaw said. “My dear Anna,” he answered. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. Michelle winked at her and left to join the gathering of seats in the center of the theater. Had she expected to wed Valade herself? Had the fellow broken a vow of betrothal, or abandoned her? He must find out more.
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