There is a place—This isn’t the place. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. “You would be wise to loosen your purse-strings, Gianfrancesco. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. The service began. After that consolations fled.
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