Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Thames, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was about to rush upon Jonathan; but he was withheld by Wood. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed.
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