Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. She heard their feet and muffled voices. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. His safety must be looked to. You'll be answerable for his escape. But she had loved the man.
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