Gianfrancesco was a contact of mine, I had allied myself to his father before him, and unbeknownst to anyone, to his Great-great-granduncle during the time of Crusades. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. “Splendid it must be to be a composer.
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