She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. . When Gianfrancesco came to call this time, she was excited and ready. Like the flaws of an old marble.
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