She didn’t like what she saw and heard and felt. The Mestrini seemed to be staring at her, and laughing, and using words she didn’t understand. Orsola had heard many languages in Venice, seen many foreigners, even dealt with them in the Rosso shop. It wasn’t that she couldn’t cope with strangeness. But these were her own—people from the Veneto region—and they were treating her as if she were a stranger.
