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That night, she dreamed of a Roman alleyway slick with rain. A man with a scarred eyebrow and a velvet doublet was mixing pigment in a mortar. He looked at her, smiled, and flicked a fleck of gold from his brush. It landed on her tongue. She woke with the taste of metal and turpentine.

She should have thrown it away. Instead, she slipped the gold leaf into her palm and closed the book. phaidon art books