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thrown off, with such brio, in a work of history

Diana laughs to herself at her ineffectuality and at the parlous state of the world

Her voice is soft and full of succor

If I’d meant my little courier run as another crumb of expiation, I’d failed. If I’d meant my service here on the island as a larger penance, that, too, had fallen short.

Small, sculptural pedestals suggest that what’s for sale aspires to the condition of art, a sense reinforced by the floors’ expanses of travertine.