She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. ” “I’m not. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. Something as yet unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical aspects of her beliefs. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand.
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