Emma’s Reviews > Bring Up the Bodies > Status Update

He is reminded of a picture he saw once in the Low Countries, of a saint being flayed alive. The skin of the man's calves was folded neatly over his ankles, like soft boots, and his face wore an expression of unblinking serenity.

The square is empty again; and he himself only a black shape against the brickwork, a fragment cut out of the night. If I ever need to vanish, he says, this is where I shall do it.

He takes the child to a looking glass so she can see her wings. Her steps are tentative, she is in awe at herself. Mirrored, the peacock eyes speak to him. Do not forget us. As the year turns, we are here: a whisper, a touch, a feathers breath from you.

"...especially when men write verses to them, and there are some who say that Wyatt writes better verses than me, though I am the king." He blinks at him: four o'clock, sleepless; you could call it harmless vanity, God love him, if only it were not four o' clock.