In the morning, sleepy-eyed, Pêro cast looks about the makeshift Fabrica, while he huddled under his canvas cloth on the earthen floor. Page through page, he went over Paulinha’s designs, her unrealized visions, notes, delicate line work and vigorous shading — her marks left to him. A folded piece of paper fell from the pages. He unfolded it. Dear Lord, she knew. She found the summons note. He sat upright, staring out at nothing in particular, grasping tight the letter.
himCarefully, he closed the sketchbook and squeezed it tight, then placed it back in his pocket with the white ribbons, remembering the collection of other design journals in the ornate cabinet at their home in the city center. What’s become of them? The other damning evidence?
What’s become of them? The other damning evi
