Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. You see, I’m selfish. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. “Take me back. ” He seemed to be elaborating ideas as he talked. 23 She had always considered herself a simple wool maker’s daughter, but she began to realize that by marrying Gianfrancesco she had unwittingly gained entrance to a separate world.
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