Back at Frank's shop, I got to grind out what seemed to be an acre of perfectly flat, perfectly right limestone slabs for a fireplace Albert Speer would just die for. At odd moments I finished her dress and polished the scoops of her wings.
Now that she's "done", people ask what I'll do with her. After I make her a nice limestone perch, I'll set her up in the shop with her back turned so I can refine the filigree on her wings forever. Unless, of course, some kind collector pays me to stop.