Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. A nurse came hurrying up. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. Members of the crowd looked over their shoulders and stared at her through the smoky haze. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature.
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