She pulled him towards the bed. ‘I see that Leonardo was right. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. So kind, so good to me always.
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