She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. I don’t see how they can be. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. He pushed her back forcefully into her seat with his lips, his body automatically responding to her kiss. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty.
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