He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. People are afraid of her that no one has ever dared to make fun of her. ’ The listening soldiers began to snigger behind their hands. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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