Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. Shari smiled and Mike whispered to her. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. “Thanks, so do you. But you couldn't. You know as well as I do that it was accident.
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