She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. It hadn’t even been called Kentucky back then when the Shawnee still hunted deer over mossy hills and the smoke from their fires could still inspire terror. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room.
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