She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Then a roar of hisses. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn.
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