She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. He was disquieted. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Never mind. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap.
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