Vicky Peterwald: Target
“Vicky studied the look on the man’s face. She set herself to memorizing it. Later, she would practice it in front of a mirror. That kind of sincere dismay at events was so rare in her world that she greatly doubted she’d ever have another chance to observe it.
Mr. Smith, however, did not pause in his examination. “What can you tell me about the vase, sir?”
“I bought it on Bern while the admiral was busy with a banker. There was this place next to the bank. A shopping place like nothing ...I’d ever seen back home. I forget what they called all the shops, tiny things, all cheek to jowl.”
“A boutique?” Vicky offered.
“Yes, yes, I think that was what they called it. Among all the little shops there was this handcart loaded with hand-worked ceramic things. The young woman selling them offered me this vase dirt cheap. My wife’s sister has made a hobby of ceramic work. She has her own kiln and is trying to get the other wives interested in artistic things.MoreLess
Mr. Smith, however, did not pause in his examination. “What can you tell me about the vase, sir?”
“I bought it on Bern while the admiral was busy with a banker. There was this place next to the bank. A shopping place like nothing ...I’d ever seen back home. I forget what they called all the shops, tiny things, all cheek to jowl.”
“A boutique?” Vicky offered.
“Yes, yes, I think that was what they called it. Among all the little shops there was this handcart loaded with hand-worked ceramic things. The young woman selling them offered me this vase dirt cheap. My wife’s sister has made a hobby of ceramic work. She has her own kiln and is trying to get the other wives interested in artistic things.MoreLess
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