“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. I put my foot down like—like adamant. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. Gianfrancesco was a contact of mine, I had allied myself to his father before him, and unbeknownst to anyone, to his Great-great-granduncle during the time of Crusades. Nice lady.
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