Sometimes it seemed as if Gabriel had all the time in the world; other times he frowned at his watch, frowning, as if calculating how much longer they had to go before they camped for the night. Occasionally he speaks in other languages. His French is quite good. His Italian is impeccable, but there"s still a hint of timbre that suggests he"s not a native. As Gabriel spoke to her in German, a change swept over him. Back erect. His face hardened to the point of harshness. She always answered Gabriel in the language he asked, even though her words were recorded in Hebrew. He hardly gave her a hard time, but any inconsistencies in his answer, whether real or thought he did, were questioned by him like a prosecutor in court.
“Where does this passion for art come from?” he asked. “Why art? Why
