She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. ’ ‘What about the lad?’ said the captain suddenly. He looked no longer at his wife.
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