The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. “You are quite right, I think. He envied her a little. ” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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