I’m in an immeasurably long dining hall, somewhere. Maybe England. Maybe Scotland. Maybe not. A two-toned brown marble floor gleams from a fresh cleaning. Four, teardrop-shaped Swarovski crystal chandeliers are centered and hang from the ceiling. They glow a bright yellow-white hue, filling the room with an exquisite exuberance. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors decorate the walls here and there. Rembrandt paintings decorate the hall, scattered over the massive walls, all of which I am familiar, having loved his works since I was a child: Syndics of the Drapers’ Guild, The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, The Night Watch, The Anatomy Lesson, The Jewish Bride, Danae, and Belshazzar’s Feast.
My attention is drawn to the massive and tasteful table within the center of the room: stretched and capable of s
