"What of her?" cried the knight. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets.
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