She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. Permit me to introduce myself. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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