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” It was clear by Michelle’s tone that she was unconvinced of her own truths. “I mean to,” she replied. “It really is not necessary. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Luck. “I was really interested in his stuff. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. His face was very serious. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool.
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