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It was only a matter of time before the two English poets would have suffered the same indignity, so they took themselves off in early April.”I was perturbed my quarry had flown. “Do you know where they have gone?”Arthur shrugged his shoulders to indicate his ignorance.“I could find out, if you are particularly interested in their whereabouts.”I quickly dissuaded him of that opinion. “No, it was merely idle curiosity. “I hurriedly went onto another subject, hoping I had not piqued Arthur’s curiosity by my apparent interest in Shelley.Next morning. as I made way through the Piazza dei Cavalieri, heading for the southern gate and the road to Livorno, my attention was drawn to a scuffle-taking place in one corner of the square. A student from the university of Pisa, dressed in the traditional gown and felt hat, was being assaulted by at least three toughs, one armed with a cudgel, which he was about to land on the student’s head. I jabbed my heels into my horse, which quickly trotted. The place is all dusty and musty. The back wall of the front counter is covered in old, dirty mirrors. The lights are dim and the floorboards are creaky. The aisles are stocked with frilly old lace things, heavily-used suits from decades forgotten, and masks. You're fucked. You look around for a mask, since a petticoat-corset-tophat-monocle combo isn't gonna work with your jeans.You see the cashier eyeing you eyeing all the junk hanging up in The Closet. You see your unadorned, regular self in the dozens of tarnished old mirrors behind her. She leans over the counter hard, squinting at you.You squint back.She beckons you with a curling finger, so you approach the counter. As you do, she pulls out a mirror from below, still leaning intensely over the counter-top."Here, try this on."The attendant is kinda creepy, wearing a half-mask over her eyes herself, but she offers real friendly-like, so you take the mask, and are about to try it on when you see it's completely white and almost.
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