“Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. Someone was coming out of the house. She could not stir hand or foot. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. This is altogether insupportable. “Tell her,” said Mr. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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