Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. "But, I own, I think it is like. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much.
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