Edward was twelve when he had seen his first painting by Titian of a woman with flowing red locks. Since that day, he had always wanted to find a model he could paint who possessed the flaming hair that was Titian's trademark.

Never was a town better epitheted.

He hurtled the wad of paper angrily at the trash can and missed by a mile.

Checking behind him nervously, the dealer was trying to concentrate on showing Bouck some small art-glass pieces in a vitrine in the middle of the booth.