They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. Shoving between them, she confronted the captain herself. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Nasty, damp passages.
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