“I don’t think I shall. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. He came over to me. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side.
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