“—but this cannot be. “She”, you say. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. I don’t defend it. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. \"Could you take off your shoes?\" Michelle asked. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered.
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