The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. ‘I do not believe you. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. I am a thing to be used. She pulled her hand away quickly. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. 6.
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