They were Persian miniatures done in richly pigmented shades of scarlet and cobalt and gold. She spun to look at James in astonishment. “Where did you find these?” “An antiquities shop in Soho,” James said. She still couldn’t quite read his expression. “They were selling off the estate of a Persian merchant living abroad.” Cordelia leaned close to examine the beautiful nasta‘ lı¯q calligraphy above the images of prophets and acolytes and musicians, birds and horses and rivers. “This is by Rumi,” she whispered, recognizing a verse: The wound is the place where the Light enters you. It had
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He’s so thoughtful 😭
