Rosalind, 1800

A small Georgian thing, and a serious one. The rock crystal is deepening to colourless white fire under candlelight, the cannetille goldwork unmistakable. The gallery is sawn through with a saw-blade no thicker than a hair. It reached us out of a house in the home counties, unworn for a lifetime and none the worse for it. Nothing about it was made to impress, which is exactly why it does.