His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. I must obey. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. He was caressing an idea.
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