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The Medici Boots
The Medici Boots
The Medici Boots
Ebook24 pages23 minutes

The Medici Boots

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The amethyst-covered boots had been worn by an evil wanton in medieval Florence—but what malefic power did they carry over into our own time?
LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 26, 2016
ISBN9781682997291
The Medici Boots

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    “The Medici Boots” is a short story set in America during 1935. Two brothers inherit a fortune and numerous artefacts, including a pair of glamorous feminine boots that were supposedly cursed by a vengeful woman of Florence in the 1470s. The wife of one of the brothers is staying with them and she, not believing the curse attached to the beautiful boots, tries them on. As this is a horror tale, have a guess as to whether or not the curse is for real.An entertaining little story, this one.

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The Medici Boots - Pearl Norton Swet

The Medici Boots

By Pearl Norton Swet

Start Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2015 by Start Publishing LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Start Publishing eBook edition July 2015

Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 13: 978-1-68299-729-1

The Medici Boots

By Pearl Norton Swet

The amethyst-covered boots had been worn by an evil wanton in medieval Florence—but what malefic power did they carry over into our own time?

For fifty years they lay under glass in the Dickerson museum and they were labeled The Medici Boots. They were fashioned of creamy leather, pliable as a young girl’s hands. They were threaded with silver, appliqued with sapphire silks and scarlet, and set on the tip of each was a pale and lovely amethyst. Such were the Medici boots.

Old Silas Dickerson, globe-trotter and collector, had brought the boots from a dusty shop in Florence when he was a young man filled with the lust for travel and adventure. The years passed and Silas Dickerson was an old man, his hair white, his eyes dim, his veined hands trembling with the ague that precedes death.

When he was ninety and the years of his wanderings over, Silas Dickerson died one morning as he sat in a high-backed Venetian chair in his private museum. The Fourteenth Century gold-leaf paintings, the Japanese processional banners, the stolen bones of a Normandy saint—all the beloved trophies of his travels must have watched

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