She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Mere hangers on. It’s not like we’re getting married. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. "But it wants something here. “It is intolerable that you should be followed about by such a creature. From the point of view of most things in the world of employment which a woman can do reasonably well and earn a living by, you’re unripe and half-educated. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. But at least it gave her more time.
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