Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. It was time to get up. 83 She stared at his crazily erect penis, mentally comparing it to Gianfrancesco’s. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. The servants had left the room. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin.
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