Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. We come out into the world, some of us—” She paused. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. “I am excited to announce the premiere of my Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, to be played tonight featuring solos by our concertmaster, Lucy Albert. 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.
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