Alexandre Cabanel The Birth of Venus

Alexandre Cabanel The Birth of VenusSandro Botticelli The Story of Nastagio degli OnestiSandro Botticelli The Cestello Annunciation
Drink again," the old man said.
Will held the glass tightly and closed his eyes while the old man did something to his hand. It stung horribly, but then he felt the rough friction of a towel on his wrist, and something mopping the wound more gently. Then there was a coolness for a moment, and it hurt again.
"This is precious ointment," the old man said. "Very difficult to obtain. Very good for wounds."
It was a dusty, battered on the other side of the narrow street waving his arms in the air as if trying to keep a flock of bats from his face. Then he turned away and began to run his hands along the stones in the wall, looking closely at each one, counting them, feeling the edges, hunching up his shoulders as if to ward off something behind him, shaking his head.
Angelica was desperate, and so was little Paolo behind her