Polidori engaged in polite conversation with several young men whom Mary thought only mildly interesting. Still she smiled and nodded as required, studying their mannerisms and gestures, the lines of their faces, the trim of their chops, the sweetness of their attentiveness toward her escort.
And then she saw him again.
The huge Gothic window reflected him clearly as he stood in the shadows of a doorway. Through the window’s reflection, she saw him peer almost directly at her, his eyes just below the lintel of the doorway. His bulk was perhaps the size of two or three men amalgamated. Mary’s heartbeat quickened as she likened him to her own creation—her own beautifully horrible wretch. His face was clean-shaven, absent of the facial adornments affected by all the men she had ever known.
