If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. Her husband finally relented. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. John’s parents were won over. Thank goodness you’ll understand.
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