Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer.
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