Leghorn Harbor
For three days and nights Severn had existed in carriages and wretched Tuscan inns; knowing the ship was expected today, he had gone at first light to the harbor; but the waterfront was empty, even the sea barely consented to move, and for hours he had paced the planks alone in the marine cold, with a sting in his left heel from the boot he could not afford to replace. Sunlight touched the water and turned it the particular glass green he had never been able to fix on canvas. He stood in the shadow of the storehouses and was not warmed. He had hardly slept on the journey. He was sure that too much had been asked of him, but when he tried to reason out the error, he could not make his thoughts follow one another.
He stuck his hand into his waistcoat and touched the edge of
