’ The door opened and Saling entered again. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Gianfrancesco became agitated. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. "Something's wrong. Hopefully. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. ” He started back as though he had been shot. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring.
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