Evelyn cleared her throat. She said, I saw a lone rower carving across the Arno. The foothills were darkening, and the cypress trees around San Miniato were topped by a ghostly mist. Ochre walls appeared more golden as the sun softened. Lights appeared throughout the city and took their place on the surface of the river. The rower slipped through this spectacle of light. Water dripped off the blades of his oars, and momentarily, I was in that drip. Falling into the green twilight depths of history. You have silenced the room, said the reverend.
