The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. I take the life out of men. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet.
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