In the middle there was a gate. Mrs. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. His literary instincts were reviving. "But he can't be far off. .
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