Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. The G. “Child!” he cried. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Give me your hand. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin.
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