She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand. My appearance is genuinely altered for the better.
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