The girl had wiped her nose on her sleeve. She had nodded once, as if receiving a reply. Then she had walked away, shoulders straighter.
Lisa’s painted hand—immobile for four hundred years—seemed to ache to reach out. Mona Lisa Smile
The Flemish merchant adjusted his ruff. “To be fair, it is a very good three centimeters.” The girl had wiped her nose on her sleeve
Lisa looked back at the empty rope. “Because once, a young woman stood there. Maybe seventeen. She was alone, which was unusual. Everyone else had phones, guidebooks, groups. But she just… stood. And she looked at me not like a puzzle, but like a person.” but like a person.”