She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. It was a sovereign easily earned. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door.
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