Wood started to his feet. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. ” “I suppose I must have thought so. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. '" "What is that?" she asked. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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