Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. “Come sit with me, beautiful. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years.
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