. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. Heard of your last escape. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Things happened frequently over here that wouldn't happen in the States once in a hundred years.
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