’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. " Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard.
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