CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. “One can’t tell. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends.
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