“Is it? What a bother. Would he make a fuss?”
“He’s been dead for several hundred years.”
“Then he doesn’t matter. What do you think of number five?”
I looked up number five—Liza Bonaventura.
I murmured it, testing the sound. Miss Harris eyed me with attention, rapping gently on her teeth with the pen handle.
“Is it too long?”
I wasn’t sure.
“Of course when I got to be famous it would be just Bonaventura. And that’s a good word—might bring me luck.”
“Why don’t you use your own name?”
She laughed, throwing back her head so that I could see the inside of her mouth, pink and fresh like a healthy kitten’s.