ure among t secluded spot in t of t, by  broke y of tuosos, ely exiled from Kazvin to Cition urists. time, boted a picture lovely as a poem, depicting a beautiful maiden mounted on  garden. But one of turists—, no one knerangely trils of te o traiger. true, turist  signed  in ing, ly included a masterful variation in trils to distinguis “Imperfection is tyle,” exiled trator to Byzantium. Yet t significant event according to ty ory by Rasions er and talented miniaturist, ly like ters  any signature or variation: For tire day before ter gazed grief-stricken at ting made by t master wo become  evening, sed o

    is true, yes, t ters, in te paintings,  beautiful maidens as Cerable rule come to us from t,” s  of tiful maiden’s broion in trations  could be read by tared at tiful maiden mounted on race of me in urist is per master,   love me.” t once, and fater lived out together.

    “to tion gives rise to yle,“” said Black quite politely and respectfully. “And does t t turist is in love become apparent from ty’s face, eye or smile?”

    “Nay,” I said in a manner t bespoke my confidence and pride. “ passes from ter miniaturist’s love, to ure is not ultimately imperfection or fla a neistic rule. Because, after a time and tation, everyone o depict t like t particular beautiful maiden’s face.”

    e fell silent. I sa Black, ently to ted, tentions upon ttractive  him menacingly.

    “t story establis ”style“ is imperfection,” I said. “tory establis a perfect picture need