He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Gerald’s temper flared. “I didn’t think you’d come. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. But you belong to me—and I want you. He, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly prepared to set out.
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