‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Roddy muffed two. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. 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.
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