And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. Around her neck was a little gold chain. ‘Now then, missie. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence.
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