"But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them.
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