ut she averted her gaze, panicked and disoriented.
Her idol had disappeared in an instant. There was no such great man at all as Quenet in her imagination.
She was a tangled mess of emotions, unsure of how to feel about encountering her childhood mentor once again. At first, an instinctive joy bubbled up inside her, but it was quickly followed by memories of this man''s faithless French leave. Then her subconscious forced her to suppress such thoughts.
"What''s wrong, Edith?" Margot, her perceptive older sister, noticed her discomfort.
Edith was about to respond when her aunt exclaimed in surprise, "Oh my God, isn''t that the little painter?"