Unto Us a Son Is Given (Commissario Brunetti #28)

by Donna Leon

Brunetti pretended he was a piece of moss on a rock and sat and waited. Rain could fall, feet could walk past, animals might nibble at his edges. He would sit and wait. He did not cross his legs nor move his feet. His arms rested on those of the chair. His drink might well have been in a different room. Or on a different planet.