His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. I always fall on my feet, you know. “What do you think of that?” he asked.
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