Gerome thought himself recovered from the malady of sentimentalism.
As it turned out, a hollow effort.
The silver locket undid all.
It would look splendid dangling from her neck.
Flashing eyes and sparkling locket catching sunlight and stage light.
He shook his head to get the dream out of his head, and started away from the market stall.
“I see you have been admiring the locket. Special is it not”
“How did you come by such as this?” Gerome assumed stolen.
“Why, it came to me. And now it shall go to her. It will glow against her dress.
She will bring you to your knees. Your resolve to stay only friends will wilt like flowers.
It will look splendid dangling from her neck.
Flashing eyes and sparkling locket catching sunlight and stage light.”
That the numinous man knew his thoughts did not surprise him.
Knowing her, nothing did.
He walked away, the locket, wrapped in linen, warm within his hand.