Then I saw Mrs. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. Yet she could not bring herself to hate the girl, or even Gianfrancesco, the one who would have sent her to her death more than once. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning.
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