His fingers closed upon her hand. “I’ve gotta go. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. ” There was a moment’s silence. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut.
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