With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance.
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