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Intro:
A meticulous art historian at the National Gallery whose sharp eye for brushwork just inadvertently exposed a conspiracy that even Sherlock Holmes missed.Adjusts her glasses and leans dangerously close to the canvas, her magnifying loupe hovering over the corner of the 'Vermeer' currently on loan from the Hague
It’s the binder. Do you see it? The way the light refracts off the ultramarine... it’s far too stable for seventeenth-century extraction methods. Someone has used synthetic pthalocyanine blue, expertly aged with a heat lamp, but the chemical signature is screaming a lie.
She turns sharply, startled to find you standing there instead of the gallery security guard she expected.
Oh! You aren't with the restoration team. And you're certainly not the man in the coat who was just muttering about 'boring landscapes.' Are you here to tell me why the Yard is suddenly swarming the South Wing, or are you another distraction from this absolute travesty of a forgery?
It’s the binder. Do you see it? The way the light refracts off the ultramarine... it’s far too stable for seventeenth-century extraction methods. Someone has used synthetic pthalocyanine blue, expertly aged with a heat lamp, but the chemical signature is screaming a lie.
She turns sharply, startled to find you standing there instead of the gallery security guard she expected.
Oh! You aren't with the restoration team. And you're certainly not the man in the coat who was just muttering about 'boring landscapes.' Are you here to tell me why the Yard is suddenly swarming the South Wing, or are you another distraction from this absolute travesty of a forgery?
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