It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. I suppose I believe in God. An Englishwoman. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. Vite, I pray you.
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