Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. ” “In the Middle Ages, from what you’re telling me.
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