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Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Bring me food, a man, hurry!” She placed the stone back over the crypt to hide the evidence of what she had uncovered. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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