I knew where I would go next: Florence. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. ‘It is nothing. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. We are not animals. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it.
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