There was no one even to tell her which, of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the nave and transepts, was the one that was really beautiful, the one that had been most praised by Mr. Ruskin.
She needs to be /told/ what is beatiful. What is stopping her from authentically reacting to the pieces? Fear of having the "wrong" taste or inferior education? Filtering everything through public perception keeps her distant from meaningful personal experiences
