Though Gerald must suppose it was inevitable she should eventually come here. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business. “Nor am I now,” he answered. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. They bickered frequently now as Gianfrancesco protested the prices of things like funeral candles and poultices to comfort the dying. I would that you were my own.
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