"Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever. ” She laughed softly to herself. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco.
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