My nerves were in rags. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. YOU did. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. I think that I am very fortunate to have it to sign.
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